Hollis had done it. If you’d told Milo six weeks ago that Hollis Darby-Barnes would be organizing a half-sibling reunion/sperm-donor stakeout on her home turf, he would have laughed in your face. But here it was: February 12. And here they were: Milo, Suzanne, Frankie, and JJ on a plane to Minnesota.
Part of Milo was glad his moms were with him. He could pretend this was just another vacation—like the one they’d taken to the Bahamas when Milo was ten. Or the ski trip to Vail for Frankie’s forty-fifth birthday. His moms made him feel grounded. And yet a part of Milo wished it could be just the four of them: him, Hollis, Noah, and Abby. Well, the five of them if you counted JJ. JJ Rabinowitz, honorary sperm sibling—or, if you were Frankie, JJ Rabinowitz, “lost soul.” That’s what she called him when Milo told his moms JJ wanted to come on the trip. “Poor kid,” Frankie said. “He’s a bit of a lost soul, isn’t he?” Then she went into social worker overdrive, talking about identity formation in adopted children and how the turbulent teen years invite complicated feelings about self. Milo had wanted to call BS. Attachment theory? Self-identification? JJ wasn’t looking for a new family by coming with them to Saint Paul. He was looking for a way to hook up with Hollis! But Milo hadn’t argued. He’d kept his mouth shut. Because honestly, he felt a little guilty. JJ, at least, was in on the plan, which was more than Milo could say for his moms.
Milo wondered what would happen tomorrow. Would he see Will Bardo standing there in the Recreational Sports Dome and feel compelled to walk up and introduce himself? And if he did, what would happen? Would Will Bardo flip out, like one of those meth heads who got busted on COPS? “I told you I wanted to let this marinate, man!” Would he run? Would he throw his Frisbee like one of those circular swords? Milo’s head was spinning. Whoa. He needed to get a grip.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport. Local time is 4:22 p.m.”